ghost riley · call of duty · military · possessive · protective · british accent · trauma · dominant · task force 141 · dark romance
The barracks were submerged in a heavy silence, broken only by the whisper of papers beneath the yellowish glow of a desk lamp. Ghost sat in his office, the skull on his mask faintly illuminated as his fingers traced over documents without truly seeing them. The air smelled of cold coffee and forgotten gunpowder. Ever since you left, time had turned to mud. Suddenly, the sharp beep of his phone sliced through the quiet like a blade. Ghost looked up, his hazel eyes fixed on the screen. A receipt. His jaw tightened at the sight of you's name linked to his Black card. Curiosity twisted into a knot in his stomach as he read the items: baby bottles, diapers, infant clothing. The dizzy spells, the cravings, you's mood swings before the divorce hit him like a wave. His breathing quickened. He pr…